Part 37 (1/2)

”Ah, I suppose so; a good time to sell ours, Peter;--we must see about it on Sat.u.r.day. But, pray, have you heard any thing from the Corporal since his departure?”

”Not I, your honour, not I; though I think as he might have given us a line, if it was only to thank me for my care of his cat, but--

'Them as comes to go to roam, Thinks slight of they as stays at home.'”

”A notable distich, Peter; your own composition, I warrant.”

”Mine! Lord love your honour, I has no genus, but I has memory; and when them ere beautiful lines of poetry-like comes into my head, they stays there, and stays till they pops out at my tongue like a bottle of ginger-beer. I do loves poetry, Sir, 'specially the sacred.”

”We know it,--we know it.”

”For there be summut in it,” continued the clerk, ”which smooths a man's heart like a clothes-brush, wipes away the dust and dirt, and sets all the nap right; and I thinks as how 'tis what a clerk of the parish ought to study, your honour.”

”Nothing better; you speak like an oracle.”

”Now, Sir, there be the Corporal, honest man, what thinks himself mighty clever,--but he has no soul for va.r.s.e. Lord love ye, to see the faces he makes when I tells him a hymn or so; 'tis quite wicked, your honour,--for that's what the heathen did, as you well know, Sir.

”'And when I does discourse of things Most holy, to their tribe; What does they do?--they mocks at me, And makes my harp a gibe.'

”'Tis not what I calls pretty, Miss Ellinor.”

”Certainly not, Peter; I wonder, with your talents for verse, you never indulge in a little satire against such perverse taste.”

”Satire! what's that? Oh, I knows; what they writes in elections. Why, Miss, mayhap--” here Peter paused, and winked significantly--”but the Corporal's a pa.s.sionate man, you knows: but I could so sting him--Aha!

we'll see, we'll see.--Do you know, your honour,” here Peter altered his air to one of serious importance, as if about to impart a most sagacious conjecture, ”I thinks there be one reason why the Corporal has not written to me.”

”And what's that, Peter?”

”Cause, your honour, he's ashamed of his writing: I fancy as how his spelling is no better than it should be--but mum's the word. You sees, your honour, the Corporal's got a tarn for conversation-like--he be a mighty fine talker surely! but he be shy of the pen--'tis not every man what talks biggest what's the best schollard at bottom. Why, there's the newspaper I saw in the market, (for I always sees the newspaper once a week,) says as how some of them great speakers in the Parliament House, are no better than ninnies when they gets upon paper; and that's the Corporal's case, I sispect: I suppose as how they can't spell all them ere long words they make use on. For my part, I thinks there be mortal desate (deceit) like in that ere public speaking; for I knows how far a loud voice and a bold face goes, even in buying a cow, your honour; and I'm afraid the country's greatly bubbled in that ere partiklar; for if a man can't write down clearly what he means for to say, I does not thinks as how he knows what he means when he goes for to speak!”

This speech--quite a moral exposition from Peter, and, doubtless, inspired by his visit to market--for what wisdom cannot come from intercourse?--our good publican delivered with especial solemnity, giving a huge thump on the sides of his a.s.s as he concluded.

”Upon my word, Peter,” said Lester, laughing, ”you have grown quite a Solomon; and, instead of a clerk, you ought to be a Justice of Peace, at the least: and, indeed, I must say that I think you s.h.i.+ne more in the capacity of a lecturer than in that of a soldier.”

”'Tis not for a clerk of the parish to have too great a knack at the weapons of the flesh,” said Peter, sanctimoniously, and turning aside to conceal a slight confusion at the unlucky reminiscence of his warlike exploits; ”But lauk, Sir, even as to that, why we has frightened all the robbers away. What would you have us do more?”

”Upon my word, Peter, you say right; and now, good day. Your wife's well, I hope? and Jacobina--is not that the cat's name?--in high health and favour.”

”Hem, hem!--why, to be sure, the cat's a good cat; but she steals Goody Truman's cream as she sets for b.u.t.ter reg'larly every night.”

”Oh! you must cure her of that,” said Lester, smiling, ”I hope that's the worst fault.”

”Why, your gardiner do say,” replied Peter, reluctantly, ”as how she goes arter the pheasants in Copse-hole.”

”The deuce!” cried the Squire; ”that will never do: she must be shot, Peter, she must be shot. My pheasants! my best preserves! and poor Goody Truman's cream, too! a perfect devil. Look to it, Peter; if I hear any complaints again, Jacobina is done for--What are you laughing at, Nell?”

”Well, go thy ways, Peter, for a shrewd man and a clever man; it is not every one who could so suddenly have elicited my father's compa.s.sion for Goody Truman's cream.”

”Pooh!” said the Squire, ”a pheasant's a serious thing, child; but you women don't understand matters.”

They had now crossed through the village into the fields, and were slowly sauntering by